Little by Little
by Painting Politics and Poland
Summary: "Her lips quirked upward and her eyes brightened just a tiny bit." Fem!Lithuania, PruLiet but could be seen as just friendship. Set in the 1980s and early 1990. Rated for dark themes. I apologise for the bad title and summary. Tell me if you think this deserves a higher rating.


**A/N- Hey everyone. Long time no see, huh? Anyway, this is my first time putting up a purely Hetalia fic (that's not a crossover or ask my OC- both of which are not discontinued by the way.) on this site though I've been writing for this fandom for awhile. This is a little fic that takes place in the 80's and early 90's in the USSR. Needless to say- it's not very happy. At all. Abusive!Russia offstage here so if you're going to say "Awww but Russia's just misunderstood. Leave the cutie pie alone~" then kindly go away and find another fic. This is my fic and I can make characters as horrible as I want. This fic also includes fem!Lithuania because I can…also- I use gender pronouns more than names so this way, it's less confusing for you lovely readers. That's about it! I don't own Hetalia.**

_**Torija = Lithuania**_

_**Gilbert = Prussia**_

**Little by Little**

Gingerly, he dragged the wet cloth over the brunette's frostbitten and bruised face, arms, and neck. She winced slightly as he brought his cloth just below her collarbone, where a burn was.

"Tor, take your shirt off." he said, his voice uncharacteristically soft…but Torija was so out of it and unlike herself…so…broken, that he couldn't help but be out of character as well.

Gilbert sighed as she complied. She looked so frail, painfully thin with horrible bruises covering her ribcage. The Lithuanian stared at him, with glassy green eyes. They weren't supposed to be so empty. They were supposed to be bright, alight with passion and repressed anger, like they used to be.

He continued wiping the dried blood off of her, focusing on her wounds to avoid arousal. And no, he wasn't a sick-o like Russia who got turned on by helplessness. He was, however, wiping down a pretty half-naked girl. He shook his head, deciding to derail that train of thought while he still could.

Finally, he was done with her front.

"Turn around."

She hesitated at first but did as he said. His eyes widened. Her back was covered with scars…not just regular battle scars, though they both had their fair share of those. No these were lash marks. She had been whipped. He pushed her long braid over her shoulder and eyed her back. Judging by the varying states of the scars, it had happened multiple times. He ran the cloth down, careful of the newer ones.

Torija let out a tiny sigh.

"Why are you doing this?"

Her voice was more timid and quiet than it used to be.

Gilbert thought for a moment.

"I don't know."

Torija let out a small 'hmm' and fell silent again. When Gilbert was finished, he stood up and handed her her shirt back. She turned around and put it back on as she stood up. He was walking out the door, she spoke.

"We will never speak of this again."

"Agreed"

He turned back toward the door.

She spoke again.

"And Gilbert?"

"Ja?"

The next words were mumbled, but Gilbert heard them. "Thank you."

He grinned at her.

"'Course! It's the least the awesome me can do!"

That was the first time he had smiled or said 'awesome' since he had arrived at Russia's house. Torija seemed to notice it as well. Her lips quirked upwards and her eyes brightened just a _tiny_ bit. "Right." Her voice was slightly more confident. He laughed and walked out the door.

A few years had passed since that day.

Gilbert was almost out of that Hell, and a few of the other nations under Soviet rule were doing what they could in their own countries to get out.

The same couldn't be said for those nations who had been annexed by the Soviet Union.

But Gilbert watched as Torija became her old self again. Little by little, day by day.

By the time they entered another decade, she had her old fire back in her eyes.

By the time February came, she had her voice back.

By the time March rolled around, she carried herself like the warrior she used to be…the warrior she was about to show everyone she still was.

For in March 1990, the Soviet Socialist Republic of Lithuania declared independence.

She had never really been broken. Just battered.

Torija was Torija again.

**A/N- That's all, folks. I hope that you enjoyed it. Favorites are appreciated but reviews mean the world to me (hint hint wink wink). **


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